


TsumBody to Love

by buckybleeds



Series: Tsumthing Strange is Happening [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: "that you remind me of right now", "you're coming with me and we're stopping at 7/11 for lube on the way", Body Horror, Brock Rumlow going "hey you know what I've got something at home", Crack, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HTP now with tsum tsums, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Other, Self Loathing, Suicidal Thoughts, This is a HTP tsum tsum rape fic what do you want from me, Tsum!Bucky, Tsum!Steve - Freeform, all the way through, amputation of tsumtsum flippers, but it got really bad okay, like yeah it's still an absurd comedy premise with the Joaks, oh god it got worse, sapient tsum tsums used as fleshlights, that will be a better warning than, there is actually no way that I can tag this, this went places seriously WARNINGS, victim blaming from the victim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: *handwavium*Bucky and Steve are now tsum tsums and Brock's gonna fuck 'em and they're going to be sad and squeaky about it.
Series: Tsumthing Strange is Happening [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760719
Comments: 38
Kudos: 39





	1. What the hell was that sound?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, what's up, yeah, I know.
> 
> Enjoy!

Brock was really starting to get used to the whole henching gig. 

Sure, he'd pretended in the Army and SHIELD that he was a soldier or an agent. Someone honorable. That got a little harder to hang onto with HYDRA.

By the time he tried to beat up Captain America and got a building dropped on him it was pretty clear.

Brock was a henchman.

So he'd owned it, accepted it. I mean sure he was moonlighting on weekends, doing the Crossbones thing locally until he had enough street cred to claim a rusted-out bunker as an evil lair all his own, but that didn't pay the bills.

Which is how he'd ended up like this. 

Sweating. Knee-deep in destroyed Doombots. Holding something that he hoped was a gun. 

And facing down Captain America and his good buddy the Winter Soldier, both of whom had something of a grudge against him due to that whole. Torture and trying to take over the world thing. 

A career as a henchman (I mean, look, you could try to pretend to be politically correct and say hench _person_ but refusing to be equal-opportunity employers was kind of the _point_ of being super villains a lot of the time so let's be real, it's henchMAN) had high rates of burnout and the benefits sucked.

But at least you couldn't say that it was boring.

***

"Put the gun down, Brock."

Rogers was panting, a little scuffed-up and bloody from putting down a hundred or so robots. 

"We can get you help, get you a doctor - you don't have to do this just -"

Brock laughed. It came out like rocks in a blender, his voice ruined and only marginally healed from his burns.

"Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice," he growled. "It's time somebody shut you up."

He pulled the trigger, unsure what would happen, and was immediately extremely unhappy with the results.

The ridiculous device - like a hot pink megaphone with glowing tubes of something green and bubbling winding down to a hand-grip that would have looked more at home on a super-soaker - blatted out a horrible swarning flarb and the world jogged left and dropped acid for a second.

At least that's what it felt like.

Really it was much harder to describe than that but suffice it to say there was a terrible sound and everything got really bright and when Brock blinked away the flashing lights Captain America and the Winter Solder were gone and in their place were two furious bouncing creatures with approximate size and shape of a two-liter bottle. One had a shield the size of a saucer strapped to its back, the other had floppy brown hair and a sparkling little nub on the area that might have been a left arm on a more sensible creature.

"What," Brock said, kicking away some Doombot debris and wishing his head felt less full of malicious cotton candy, "The fuck."

***

Brock emptied his duffel of spare mags and the shitty parts of MREs ( _fuck_ those enchiladas) and tackled the little bouncy thing that had been Bucky Barnes. It wriggled and squeaked and tried to headbutt him.

The thing was surprisingly dense and muscular as it struggled to get away from him but it was still just a weird little tube of meat and couldn't do much to get away from someone who had most of ten fingers. He crammed it in the duffel and zipped the bag closed just in time to watch the Captain America critter squeak, bounce, backflip, and come flying straight into his face shield-first.

"FUCK," Brock yelled, swatting at the tube-thing just in time to save himself from a broken nose.

Yeah, weird little goblin or not that was definitely Steve Rogers. Brock snagged him by the strap of his shield and stuffed him into the bag with Barnes.

They rustled and squeaked and slammed against the fabric walls of the duffel, making it jerk and twist in his hand like a bag full of cats as he stormed away from the wreckage of the battlefield and back to the Humvee he'd ridden here in.

He wasn't sure exactly what was going on but he wouldn't be a very good henchman if he didn't bring bring de-powered, helpless enemies to his boss.

***

It turned out that Brock wasn't a very good henchman.

The longer he drove and listened to their indignant, shrill little cries the more he thought about the way that Barnes had felt writhing in his hand, an odd little plug of furious muscle. He wondered if Rogers would feel the same way.

He wondered what their skin would feel like.

So instead of heading back to the ominous castle that very clearly did not blend in with the strip-mall suburban structure of Buffalo, Brock drove back to his shitty apartment.

The first thing he did when he got inside was gather up some supplies. Paramedic shears, duct tape. A staple gun. Things like that. 

Then he got himself a beer, emptied his dishwasher, liberated Rogers from the bag and stuffed him inside the now-empty dishwasher, slamming the door closed and hearing the latch click just as the squalling little meat-tube slammed into the metal with a thud.

Rumlow yanked Barnes out of the duffel by his hair and slammed him down hard against the kitchen table, stunning the creature into stillness so that he could work the shears under the collar of the Soldier's transformed battle gear and cut it off of his squirming body.

Brock felt a bead of sweat break free from his forehead and run down his temple. He felt supremely weird about what he was doing but he also felt hot and buzzing and like he was about to blow his load rubbing his dick against Tammi Wanamaker's pink cotton panties in the back of her dad's station wagon, excited in a way that was so old it felt new all over. 

He cut away the tubular tactical gear and got a look at what he was working with.

It was weird.

The thing had - uh - recognizably mammalian - anatomy. Kinda. Its head was barely delineated from the rest of its Vienna sausage torso. It had tiny little flipper-nubs near its head and at the opposite end of its. Cylinder? It also had tiny brown nipples, a cock and balls so cute, little, and hairless they looked like something that could be used as the inspiration for bachelorette party cocktail charms. Its back was smooth but noticeably muscled, and tapered into a completely inexplicably perfect plum of an ass with an adorable, unwrinkled, tiny pink asshole. 

Brock felt his cock twitch and frowned. Why did this thing have an asshole? He'd heard it squeaking but hadn't seen it open a mouth.

He rolled it over on its back to get a better look at Barnes' new face.

It was starting to struggle, wiggling its flippers and twisting its body. It started squeaking like an indignant dog toy but that seemed to be totally internal - it flexed and huffed and noises came out but Brock couldn't see where air was going in. He poked at its face and its huge, all-pupil eyes narrowed at him. He pulled its hair and jabbed a finger in its belly and it just kept glaring. 

He picked up the staple gun and pressed it against the snarky little hotdog.

The big eyes squinched shut into weird arcs and its mouth opened, huge and horrifying, to let out a wail and a series of mournful beeps. 

The Rogers-tube in the dishwasher slammed against the door harder.

These things were _so fucking weird_.

Brock watched mini-Barnes cry long enough to determine that he didn't have any teeth like this, then jammed his finger inside his mouth to shut him up.

The whining and squeaking cut off sharply, and Brock got more confused about the thing's anatomy. His finger went all the way into its mouth until his knuckles were brushing its cheeks and Barnes couldn't make any sound around it. But his - its - the throat was - Brock shoved a second finger in, and it managed to get one miserable bleat out before a third was added. 

This little chicken-carcass of a thing had a mouth wetter and deeper than some cunts Brock had fucked.

He pulled his fingers loose and wiped them on the side of his tac pants, walking from the kitchen to the living room to introduce the squirmy Soldier to Ralph.

Ralph, of course, being the Burmese python who lived in the 120 gallon tank next to the TV.

Brock wasn't worried that Ralph would try to eat Barnes. Even though he was tiny compared to a person he was significantly bigger and wigglier than the frozen feeder rats Ralph was used to. Plus he'd eaten just a couple days ago. He was just gonna snuggle with his hot rock and lazily circle for the next week or so.

Barnes jerked and bounced where he dangled from the fist Brock had wrapped in his long brown hair. He gave up struggling while he watched Brock move a couple cinderblocks and lift off the screen, then started twisting and yanking with renewed fervor when he realized what was happening.

Brock dropped him in the deep tank in the corner furthest from the snake and slammed the heavy grille back over the top, quickly loading the cinderblocks back into place. 

The little Soldier reared like it was going to try to slam into the glass but Brock knocked on the side of the tank and Ralph raised his head languidly.

Brock smiled down at Barnes.

"I'd try not to attract his attention if I were you," he said, and walked away to take care of Rogers.


	2. Where the fuck is that liquid coming from?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [incoherent garbage noises]

From the moment Brock opened the dishwasher Captain Shortstack tried to make him regret it.

He squeaked and squealed and flipped and flopped and it was still like wrestling with something even more harmless and less threatening than an asthmatic senior pug.

Pugs at least had some teeth.

But what Rogers lacked in teeth and limbs he made up in agility and spite. He kept trying to get Brock to drop him so that he could launch himself shield-first into an unpadded joint or protruding feature.

Brock managed to wrestle the stupid little salami onto the kitchen table and whacked his freaky little head.

"You wanna keep messing around Cap? Wanna see what happens?"

Rogers squeaked and squirmed and kept trying to fight so Brock picked him up by one of his rear flippers, walked to the counter, and stuffed him into the microwave. He hit 3-0 and let his thumb hover over the "start" button.

"You keep fucking around I'm gonna see if you pop like a hotdog in there. And when I'm done with you I'll throw the fucking Soldier in the fucking freezer and keep him as a beer coozie."

The Rogers-lump had gone still, its limbs stiff and back straight. The huge, shiny eyes had gotten bigger and looked wetter.

"You gonna be good or you gonna be goo?"

Rogers beeped quietly.

"That's what I thought," Brock said, and set about playing with his new toy.

Cap looked very much like the Soldier with his shrunken stealth suit cut away. Rogers had a more noticeable taper to his waist even as a weird little dumpling thing, but he had the same kind of twee cartoon cock and pert, pristine ass as Barnes did.

The ass was undeniably really uncomfortable to look at.

 _I mean it wasn't like I've never looked at Cap's ass before_ , Brock reasoned to himself.

Brock's self reasoned right back, _yeah, but he was a fucking human then - right now you're eyefucking a can of biscuits what the fuck is wrong with you_?

 _Kind of a lot, which you of all people should know_ , he countered, before forcibly switching that trainwreck of thought back to the situation at hand.

He grinned, positioned Rogers at the edge of the table, and picked up the roll of duct tape. He had to make peace with the fact that he was an awful pervert and his life was a fever dream sometime, might as well do it now.

Cap didn't move while Brock was strapping him down but he did start making a new noise, a little mewling hiccup that sounded like a sleepy puppy. Rumlow glanced at his face and saw that a white fluid was leaking from his round eyes and pooling on the table. The fluid, somehow - how the fuck - had narrow black outlines where it ran down his face. Crying. Cap was crying and his tears were outlined and he sounded like a looney tune on quaaludes and Brock would think about how fucking weird that was later, right now he had to go dig around in his bedroom and try to find some lube that wasn't kiwi flavored.

***

Okay so the problem with kiwi flavored lube was the parabens and the chance of a yeast infection and discomfort but there was probably no way this could or would ever be comfortable for Cap so Brock could just live with the fact that he might have to find some cranberry juice and forecefeed it to the little squirt because as soon as he started fingering Tube-Cap's smooth pink asshole open he knew there was no way he'd be able to stop.

The hole opened up like a dream, elastic and hot, and nearly slicking itself in a way that shouldn't have been possible.

But none of this was possible so the possibility of a self-lubricating fuckhole on Steve Rogers, breathing cock-sheath and unnatural scientific travesty twice over, seemed more plausibly possible than pretty much anything else that was going on.

And that wasn't even why Brock couldn't stop – he had to keep going because of how obvious it was that Rogers _liked_ it. The tears dried up as soon as Brock had crammed a finger into him and his face had turned a bright red. His little ass cheeks were pinking up as Rumlow added a second finger and scissored him open. His tiny mouth had gone slack and he was panting out visible (HOW? HOW?) puffs of white air while his adorable cock got hard and red and started dripping.

None of the anatomy of these fucking things made any goddamned sense so sure, why not, maybe it was all prostate inside or maybe its butthole was lined with tastebuds and human skin tasted like honeyed cocaine to it or some shit.

Brock was fascinated, watching the Rogers-thing squirm and pant and whine, but watching wasn’t enough. He pulled his fingers out of it, pulled his dick out of his pants, and squirted enough novelty lube on his cock to make himself smell like a tropical hooker.

“You ready for me, Cap?”

He squeaked and jerked his head in a motion that was probably supposed to be negative.

“You sure, champ? Looks like you’re ready. Looks like you really, really want some more.”

Rogers squinted his eyes shut and blatted out a mournful sound.

“Yeah. You want it. I turned you into this thing and it got the stick outta your ass and now you need something back in there filling you up again, huh baby?”

It shook its head for real this time, starting up a repetitive beeping whine that sounded like it wished it had the mouth-parts to say “no, no, no, no” or some such nonsense.

Brock ignored it and put his hands down flat on either side of Rogers, canting his hips forward until his dick ran up the crack of Rogers’ little ass and rested against its sloppy, hungry hole.

“Shhh, sweetheart, I’ve got what you want right here.”

It squealed when he thrust in but that rapidly tapered into a sweet, horrified, breathy little coo.

Brock had to take a second to collect himself and also to feel a broad and sparkling sense of awe at the tiny miracles the universe provided.

Miracles like Steve Rogers’ self-lubricating, suction-filled, virgin-tight, easy-access ass.

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” he moaned, and drew back to thrust again. Rogers repeated his babbled, shocked, disgusted pleasure sounds and Brock marveled at his luck.

This fucking _thing_ was the best thing he’d ever put his dick in. It grabbed back like a fist and dripped velvety slickness like a cunt and it was rhythmically sucking on him, all with a soundtrack of gasps and hums that were dropping into Rogers’ human vocal register, which sounded like a wet dream all on its own.

What the _FUCK_ was that fucking gun that it turned Steve Goddamned Rogers, Captain Goddamned America, into a fuck-doll that couldn’t have been more perfect if Brock had genetically engineered it himself?

“Fucking hell,” Brock panted, starting to move a little more and losing what caution he’d had when he first speared into the thing, “where did you even come from?”

Rogers wailed and shook his head and something inside of him undulated against Brock on all sides like a pussy made of tongues and that was it, that was all she wrote, wham, bam, thank you little canned ham, Brock came harder than he had in years only for the Rogers-tube to clamp down and force out a tiny, adorable, screaming orgasm that dragged a second sack-emptying round out of Brock.

Rumlow felt like his head was full of glitter and fragmentation grenades and kittens. His dick was a rainbow and his heart grew three sizes and that probably meant he needed to see a doctor.

He got his breathing slowly under control and eventually tucked himself back into his pants and stood up, surveying the lurid tableau (that he was only partially completely responsible for) before him.

Barnes was in the tank with Ralph, eyes firmly down and trembling hard enough that it was visible ten feet away. Rogers was duct-taped to the head of the table. His ass gaped like he’d passed a grapefruit through it and a steady stream of fruity-smelling, cloudy liquid dripped out of where he’d been hung over the edge. He looked fuck-stupid and weepy, mouth hanging open and eyes glassy as he panted.

Brock took in the view for a moment then found his keys.

If he was going to make this work he had to go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know either. I just work here.


	3. What the fuck is that thing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow plays with Bucky and Steve in explicit, horrifyingly graphic detail.  
> IT IS VERY BAD PLEASE BE WARNED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes final warnings graphically awful rapey stuff here.
> 
> Also please note that this is now a series. This fic has no happy ending, but if you need some comfort with your hurt or some recovery with your rape check out the next part of the series.

His thoughts were simpler like this but Bucky Barnes knew fear like an old friend and would recognize it even if everything else was different. 

Boots approached his cage and he trembled - he never knew what to expect of their captor. Rumlow fed and fucked them at irregular intervals but also sometimes wrapped one of them in a blanket to snuggle on the couch or stuffed them in the freezer to laugh at their screams. 

And sometimes, often, the boots just passed by and Rumlow left Steve and Bucky alone in the apartment, helpless to do anything but wait for his return. 

***

If Steve had had arms he'd have found a way to kill himself. 

He was no stranger to self-loathing but this was a whole different level. 

He was a captive, he was transformed, he was being used as a sex toy on a regular basis, and he loved it.

Obviously he didn't love the helplessness or the containment or his inability to do anything but squirm ineffectually when Brock used him, but he did love getting fucked with a passion and ardor that terrified him. 

Steve liked sex pretty well in his real body. He preferred bottoming, he liked giving head. It felt good. Pleasant. Refreshing, sometimes. 

But but having sex in his real body was nothing compared to how it felt to get used in this body. The sensation of a cock or a toy nearly as long as he was rending him open, threatening to turn him inside-out when it got torn out of him roughly, pinning him down from the inside - that feeling echoed in his mind and his guts, made him come ten times a day, and made him hate himself more than anything (except dropping Bucky) ever had. 

He remembered feeling betrayed by his body before - sitting with his legs splayed in front of him, his back pressed to Bucky's chest, trying to suck in enough air to just stand up again, to just keep going another day. He remembered the fury and disgust he'd experienced, the contempt he'd had for this weak shell that only ever disappointed him. 

He would have traded this new hell for that spindly body and its fundamental brokenness in a heartbeat. 

He could breathe easy in this odd body, but every breath was heavy with shame. He didn't hurt anywhere, it seemed like it was impossible to meaningfully injure these forms, but he wished it did hurt when Rumlow was fucking him because the unwanted, unendurable pleasure he got from being used made him sick in a way that this body couldn't process. He wanted to vomit and cringe and scream and expel this soul-deep nausea but all he could do was come harder and hate himself. 

And what was worse was that Bucky didn't feel the same way. 

When Rumlow fucked Bucky Steve could tell he hated it. He cried and squirmed and tried to scramble away at every opportunity. He didn't get hard, didn't come. His horrified squeaks didn't get urgent and desperate. He hated being used and he showed it. 

It even was reflected in the way that Rumlow stored them. 

Bucky was padlocked into a cat carrier weighted down with cinderblocks. It was the most efficient way to keep him in one place.

And, humiliatingly, the best way to keep Steve in one place was to keep him full.

Rumlow had tried putting them in an aquarium, they'd broken the glass. 

He'd come back with a smaller aquarium, one that was tall but narrow. He'd suction-cupped a purple, sparkling, 10-inch dildo to the bottom of the tank then pushed Steve down over it until his head was low enough that the lid would slide closed. He'd screamed through the first time that it happened, panicked and thrashed and Brock had yanked him off of the toy and stuck a needle through his scrotum. He'd followed it with a thick ring that he clamped closed then slammed Steve back in place and clipped the ring on his balls to a matching ring at the base of the toy. At first he felt so full that he thought he was choking from the inside out, but then the nightmare body he was trapped in adjusted and simply being put in place on the silicone cock was enough to keep him hard and leaking constantly. 

Rumlow adored it. Told him over and over that a good toy should always be ready for use. He delighted in the discovery that Steve's body would stay wet for him if he was 'put away properly' but never got any less tight. 

It was hell. 

So that's how they had lived for weeks. Bucky in a cage by the door like a dog, Steve on display, spitted open and too paralyzed by pleasure to free himself.

***

Brock enjoyed himself on his trip to the post office. In the last three months he'd been spending all his time working for Dr. Doom and plotting various nefarious misdeeds or in his apartment doing recreational nefarious misdeeds. 

It was important to keep a healthy work-life balance, after all. 

But it was also important to make sure you didn't get too bogged down by routine, so Brock picked up his package, bought a smoothie, and spent some time people-watching at the mall while he drank it. 

His choice of seating was only slightly motivated by the 3-story "RIP Captain America" mural facing the food court.

It was a horrible, gaudy thing showing an extremely military portrait of Rogers saluting the flag in his flag suit with F-35s flying over his head trailing red, white, and blue smoke.

If Steve knew about it he would hate it. Brock snapped a photo so he could make sure Steve knew about it. 

There were plenty of things Steve would hate today. Might as well make this the cherry on top. 

*** 

Brock was whistling when he came home. Steve had trouble thinking when he was like this but he knew enough to know that wasn't good. 

"Who wants to play a game," their captor boomed. "I want a volunteer. One of you is going to make a choice because both of you are playing tonight. Understand?"

Steve closed his eyes and started to shiver. 

"Here's the game," Brock continued. "I've got a new, special toy in this box. One of you is going to play with the toy and the other one is going to ride my cock."

Bucky was crying and Steve wanted to as well. 

"And one of you gets to choose which is which. First to squeak gets to choose what the other does."

That would be Steve then. Bucky hadn't voluntarily made a noise since Brock had started cutting their flippers off.

Steve chirped miserably. 

"Good boy," Brock beamed. "You get to tell me what to do to the Soldier tonight. One squeak for Barnes to play with the new toy, two squeaks and Buck gets fucked."

Not for the first time Steve wished that this body could vomit.

The thing was, Bucky hated it when Brock used him. He hated it and cried and tried to fight it.

But whatever Brock had in the box was almost certainly worse than his dick, and he almost certainly knew Steve would do anything to protect Bucky. 

Including this. 

Steve beeped twice. Bucky didn't move or even look over but Steve knew he was glaring in his heart, furious at the choice Steve had made for him. 

Brock smiled gently. It was the kind of smile Steve used to think was almost beautiful on his hard, angular face. 

"You're a sanctimonious prick but I can always count on you to be the hero, huh Sweetheart?"

Steve looked away from him, burning with shame.

Cardboard rustled and there were a few clicks and quiet thuds on the table that held Steve's aquarium.

"Have a look at what you just signed up for, Cap."

Steve had a look and once more wished he could throw up.

There was some kind of dildo on the table, but one unlike any Steve had ever seen before. 

It was. 

It was long. 

Really, really long. It started as a thin point that was maybe the size of Rumlow's little finger and gradually grew to a diameter that closely matched his fist but it took a ridiculous length to do that. 

Brock picked up the thick end and the toy nearly dripped, bending like pretzel dough. 

"You were thirteen inches when we measured you. Do you know how big this is?"

Steve shook his head. He couldn't look away but he felt this body's oddly cool tears start to run down his face. 

"Twenty-four inches. It's a depth toy, which is why it's so bendy. To go two feet into a person it has to twist and curve. But you? Sweetheart I bet it just goes right through."

Rumlow waggled it and the light played over its coppery surface.

"They make a small that's 16 inches but I knew you'd need the girth on this to feel anything inside you. I knew it would make you crazy."

Steve was going to die. He'd lived through the Depression and World War Two and the ice and the Battle of Manhattan and the Insight launch and he was going to die of Brock Rumlow wielding three pounds of silicone.

His mouth gaped open and he couldn't even find the breath to squeak. 

"Don't worry, Cap. I'm sure it won't hurt and if it does you're such a good little cockslut that I'm sure you'll like it anyway."

Steve let himself keep crying. He didn't have any dignity left to preserve, and if he was going to die impaled on a floppy orange dick at least he'd probably spare Bucky from the same fate. 

Brock unlocked the lid of Steve's enclosure and slid it clear before slowly, carefully unhooking the ring in his balls and tugging him free of the dildo that kept him pinned in place. 

Sometimes Brock would taunt him, fucking him up and down on the purple toy, or pulling him nearly all the way off then letting gravity and Steve's hungry ass work together to fill him up again, but this time he was almost gentle, magnanimous in the face of the horrors he had planned. 

Brock lifted him off so carefully and slowly that he didn't even come, and then set him on the kitchen table with a look akin to reverence. 

Steve tried to curl up and cover himself. Bouncing had become nearly impossible when Brock cut off their stupid little limb paddles so curling and twisting were the only kind of locomotion they had left available to them. 

Steve wished he could cover his face or hide his body. He wished that he could become very small, small enough to pass through atoms, so small he could fall through the wood of the table and it would look like the night sky and he could go to sleep and -

Brock slapped him. 

"You know the rules, Cap. Keep your eyes open and pay attention to me. Otherwise I might think you're getting bored. Are you bored, Sweetheart?"

Steve shook his head and opened his eyes to glare, denied any distance from this nightmare. 

Rumlow rolled Steve onto his back and pushed the first three inches of flexible orange dildo into him. 

Steve sucked in a breath and his body relaxed, happy to have something in it. 

"Always such a good little whore for it, aren't you sweetheart," he wiggled the toy deeper and Steve gasped. "I'll bet you were gagging for it before and that's why you're like this now. The Soldier doesn't need it like you need it. You though, your body knows you're only a hole. It just took a while to get your head onboard, but we're getting there, aren't we?"

Brock backed the toy out of Steve before pushing it deeper. It was still so thin he barely felt it at his entrance but the weight of it was taking shape inside him. His little prick was hard and wet, he couldn't keep the quiet, hungry moans from escaping him. 

"I knew you'd like this, honey. Keep you so full you're overflowing."

The dildo Steve was stored on was ten inches and made him feel full to bursting. He didn't feel like he was going to explode right now but he was beginning to feel some pressure behind his eyes. 

What Brock wanted had to be impossible. It would break him. Kill him. There was no way he could survive. 

"You've got half in, sweetheart. You don't know what you do to me when you look like this. Drives me crazy when you're drooling for it."

And he was right - Steve could feel water running out of his mouth but couldn't pay attention because the pressure kept burning and building and he wanted to gag on it but this _useless little fuck hole body wouldn't even let him puke_ and -

Brock wasn't pushing at the moment, he'd reached around and put his fingers in Steve's mouth and, fuck, he hated it when Brock wanted his mouth, leaving the taste lingering for hours and -

Oh god, oh _fuck_ , _ohgodno_ the fingers pushed his throat open and grabbed into something and it _pulled_ and oh Christ he could feel the tip of the toy slide out with Brock's fingers and just like that it was through him and he was squealing and squirming and twisting like a bead on a string and all coherent thought abandoned him in the gibbering horror of a miserable orgasm. 

***

Brock almost felt bad for Cap. Not bad enough to stop what he was doing, of course. 

The poor little guy clearly went AWOL for a second there when the end of the Slink passed out through his mouth so Brock took the opportunity to finish setting up the evening's entertainment.

The transformed super soldiers had small junk if you were thinking in human terms but disproportionately large for their foot-long bodies. Brock had to double over the jelly ring on Rogers' dick to make sure he wouldn't keep shooting off. He tied a soft piece of nylon rope around the narrow stem at the base of the monstrous toy and secured it to an anchor loop he'd installed on the table. He'd started adding flourishes like that a week ago. It wasn't like he'd ever want to eat off this surface again, after all. 

He was more careful tying the other end to the grimy fixture that hung above the table. The fucking dildo had cost over three hundred and fifty dollars and it was worth it, clearly, but he definitely didn't want to tear the thing. 

When it was all strung up Rogers hung a couple inches below the tip with nearly another foot of fake cock stretched out below him. 

Brock had saved the miniature harness and shield and took a moment to strap them onto Rogers' twitching form. He had to make sure the harness was extra tight without any flippers to hold it up, and he smiled over the memory of how tight and loud Cap had been when one of his limbs got sliced off. 

Cap started wiggling again when Brock used a lube-shooter to fill his mouth and ass until they were dripping. When all that was left on the table were a remote and a five pound plate with a loop of string through the center Brock went to get Barnes. 

Barnes, as had become his habit, was staring at the back of his kennel and not reacting to the world around him. Brock wasn't sure if it was defiance or disassociation but either way it didn't matter much. Rogers was so horrified with himself that he was actually fun to play with. Barnes was maybe half a step up from a fleshlight warmed in a bath. 

Which was why Barnes was just something for Brock to fuck while Rogers was the star of tonight's little show.

Brock used the same shooter to get Barnes wet, unzipped his pants, crammed his cock into the warm flesh in a single unrelenting thrust, then sat down with one hand jacking Barnes on his cock and the other hand free to torture Captain America.

***

If he ever had words again Bucky Barnes was going to have words with Steve about jumping on grenades. 

Also maybe a few words about self preservation and torture survival tactics. 

Because Bucky knew a fucking thing or two about surviving torture and you didn't do to by reacting in exactly the way your torturers wanted. 

Bucky hated it when Brock fucked him, but it was clear to anybody with eyes (who wasn't blinded by love and in a committed relationship with self sacrifice) that Steve hated being used so much that he was trying to find ways to commit suicide as a limbless chicken nugget. 

Bucky was unhappy with their situation but he'd endured worse and he had faith in the Avengers to find them, somehow. Steve was miserable and hopeless and wanted to push Rumlow into killing him. 

What Steve didn't realize was that Rumlow was an exceptionally gifted and sadistic torturer and he'd never give up a victim like Steve, who blamed himself and hated himself and could take an unimaginable amount of abuse.

So Steve could tell himself that he kept taking the harder punishment because he wanted to spare Bucky, but Bucky had his number. Steve actually took the harder hits because he was hoping Rumlow would slip and he could stop hating himself. 

Aw, Steve. You fucking idiot. How can someone so brave be such a coward?

***

He came back to himself whimpering. He was over the table, the toy was threaded through him like a piercing through a tongue, and he could feel the inevitability of gravity pulling him lower on the dildo and passing more of it out through Steve's mouth. 

He heard a grunt behind him but couldn't see Brock or Bucky.

"If I were you," Brock panted, "I'd either clench my ass or start swallowing a lot harder, because I've got a surprise for you when you get to the bottom and I don't think you'll like it."

Steve couldn't see him, couldn't ask questions, so he had to take him at his word and start swallowing.

Clenching didn't work, it just made his hungry, needy ass suck in more of the soft silicone. 

Swallowing worked, or at least it slowed down his descent, but within just a couple minutes his hole was burning and stretching as his weight pulled him over the thick bulb at the base of the toy. 

Rumlow clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I know you tried, sweetie, but that wasn't good enough."

A hand touched his midsection and twisted him around the toy until he was facing Rumlow and could watch him languidly thrust in and out of Bucky. 

The hand on his body firmed its grip and lifted him until he was stretching open over the wide part of the toy again and then thrust down until it popped back inside him. Then he was lifted and lowered again until he was moaning at the sensation of the obscenely wide base of the dildo tugging at his rim and pounding inside of him. He half-noticed that Brock was sliding Bucky up and down his cock in the same rhythm. 

It was maddening and painful and humiliating and his own little dick kept twitching and leaking as his hole got stuffed but the ring around his cock kept him from coming, leaving his attention shattered and his prick an angry red. 

Finally Brock lifted him off and kept him off, sliding him to the narrow tip at the top again. Steve tried to ignore the fact that every inch sliding through his mouth had already passed through the rest of him. It wasn't really the kind of thing that was easy to ignore.

When Steve was at the apex of the toy Rumlow let go of him and he started swallowing frantically to keep himself from slipping. It was easier when he was at the narrow end like this, he might be able to -

His dick started vibrating and he screamed at the sudden onslaught of sensation, sliding down several inches of the toy all at once. 

Rumlow chucked and set down the remote for the vibrating cock ring. He put both hands on Bucky and held him still to fuck hard into him a few times while he watched Steve struggling and slipping. Steve was dripping past the constriction of the ring he was so hard from this. 

He tried to rock his body and that set the whole rig swaying and bought him a little time but all too soon he was at the bottom again and Brock was roughly fucking him over the bulging base.

Finally Rumlow pulled him to the top again and hung the weight on the table from the shield he'd strapped to Steve's back.

Steve dropped like a rock, falling the whole length of the toy in ten seconds while a burbling shriek made its way out of his over-full throat. 

Brock lifted him up and dropped him again, laughing deep and bright from his chest when Steve screamed.

But the third time Steve was ready.

He may have been tiny and limbless and had a sex toy stung through him like a chain through a pendant, but only an idiot would torture Steve Rogers and then hand him a weapon. 

And Brock Rumlow was a fucking idiot. 

He released Steve to watch him fall again but Steve swallowed hard and jerked all the muscles in his body so hard they _hurt_. The elasticity of the toy added to the momentum at Steve's disposal and he twisted as fast as he could, just in time to watch the iron weight sail away from his shield to slam into the center of Rumlow's forehead. 

Brock's eyes rolled back and he toppled like a tree, still holding Bucky on his cock with one hand, while Steve slowly slid to the bottom of the toy again and hoped that if Rumlow woke up he'd be angry enough to kill them both. 

And that's how they stayed until Wanda and Tony broke down the door of Brock's shitty apartment five minutes later. 

***

There were voices.

He closed his eyes. Voices never meant good news for him. 

***

He was on top of something soft. There was nothing inside his body. 

He didn't know if that was good or bad. 

***

"- accessed a pocket dimension that allowed limited contact between forms, which explains why their bodies are in such good shape."

"Bullshit. That doesn't explain anything, Glenda, you might as well say it was magic."

"Well, it was magic."

Steve caught himself smiling a little. He understood that reference. 

***

Bucky was screaming. 

Steve couldn't move, couldn't help. 

Bucky screamed again and Steve struggled with his sheets. 

Bucky screamed again and Steve drew in a breath. 

Bucky screamed again and Steve opened his eyes and -

Bucky was in the bed next to his, eyes bright in the darkness, looking over at Steve. 

A monitor beeped and Steve understood that was what had scared him, that distressed little beep that sounded so much like their tiny forms calling out in pain.

Bucky nodded. 

"I hear it too, scared me at first. Thought you were hurting, sweetheart."

Steve flinched at the endearment and Bucky winced. 

There were voices in the hall. 

"Okay, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Haired Cowboy, what's got you all worked up, your heart rate just skyrocketed," Tony charged into the room with Wanda and a phalanx of doctors on his heels. 

Steve looked at them blankly for a moment, then did what he'd been wanting to do for weeks and violently and comprehensively threw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The toy Rumlow uses is the Slink, which you can examine at fullkit.com and dream of having $370 to drop on a two-foot long depth play toy.


End file.
